Werewolves, Banshees, and Zombies, Oh My!
by gliderstiles
Summary: : Stiles had the perfect life. Perfect job, amazing girlfriend, no, better, fiancé. He couldn't ask for a better life. Then life laughed at him and he lost it all. And became a brain-eating zombie. Now he works at a morgue with his boss Lydia, terrified that anyone will find out. Then Lydia finds out and a surly werewolf may want to kill him. It just keeps getting better.


Summary: Stiles had the perfect life. Perfect job, amazing girlfriend, no, better, fiancé. He couldn't ask for a better life. Then life laughed at him and he lost it all.

And became a brain-eating zombie.

Now he works at a morgue with his boss Lydia, terrified that anyone will find out. Then Lydia finds out and a surly werewolf may want to kill him. It just keeps getting better and better.

(Teen Wolf fans don't need to know Izombie to read this, it's explained. Izombie fans don't need to know Teen Wolf, but it is TW cast.)

Author Notes: So this isn't my usual thing. It started out as crack and then evolved. Yes, it does start out as the first episode of Izombie, with my own little quirks and other supernatural creatures.

It starts out as Stiles/Malia, very briefly, but it can go in the direction of Sterek or Stydia as well, up to you to decide. For now this is a one-shot, so unless I decide to change that, it can go in any direction.

Oh, Malia is either human or isn't telling Stiles she's a werewolf. What do you think?

I do not own anything relating to Izombie or Teen Wolf except a DVD set.

I am going to continue my other story, _Autopsy Of My Soul_ , this one was kind of a distraction. From a lot of different things.

I'm not sure if this is going to be it or if I'm going to leave it as is. Partially depends on the response I get. If it does continue, it will veer away from the Izombie plot line and more into its own.

~One Moment To Change Everything~

I have never considered myself perfect, quite the opposite, but I do have the perfect life. I am a doctor at Heart Springs hospital where I kick ass and save lives, or, rather, kick ass at saving lives. I live with my best buddy, more like a brother, Scott, whom I grew up with and we have done almost everything together. Then there's my girlfriend, sorry, fiancé, (I love saying that, fiancé, I have a drop dead gorgeous fiancé) who is honest, knows what she wants, tough as nails, and did I mention gorgeous? My name is Stiles Stilinski, (Not technically, but it's what I go by) and I couldn't ask for a better life. Too bad I don't get to keep it. Life sucks, don't it?

My perfect life ended on what started out to be a perfect day. All days must end. I saved a teenager's life with quick thinking, and to be honest, I was feeling _good._ Then Patrick, another doctor and co-worker asked me to go with him to a boat party as we walked out of the hospital.

"Stiles, you did awesome today, man. Wanna go to a party tonight?"

"Oh, I'm not really a party person." I replied. I was flattered, but I'm really not a party person. Social anxiety, people, plus Stiles does not always end well. Like that one time I got drunk and around two am. I ended up dancing with a Christmas tree to Scott's and everyone else's amusement. No one needed a repeat of that.

"Come on. Show everyone you're not an over-achieving pain in the ass."

 _Don't be a dick. Don't be a dick. Sarcastic comments will only prove him right._ I _really_ wanted to prove him wrong. Is that wrong?

"It's on a boat." Dicktrick said, trying to entice me, almost in a sing song tone. I am not always nice. I can be, but nice is hard, honesty and my personal brand of wit was, well, me. It's something I want to work on. Not calling "Patrick" by his new nickname is a start. Out loud, that is.

"Thanks for the invite, but I have plans." I said, somehow pulling it off. And there she was, Malia waiting for me not far away. My own car was in the shop currently. My Jeep had broken down again, duct tape repairs only gets you so far. It's worth it if I get picked up by an angel.

Dicktrick saw where I was heading with a goofy smile on my face.

"So basically every day of your life is like the end of sixteen candles?" He shot to my retreating back.

I glanced over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes in amusement. I may be one of the few people that hasn't seen that movie, but that makes me the girl, doesn't it? Whatever. I didn't dignify it with a response.

I turned back to Malia. "So, save any lives today?" She asked, one hand already sneaking up my chest and on my shoulder.

"Yeah, actually, a teenager. I got propositioned today. Mrs. Galifer totally wants me." Mrs. Galifer was an elderly patient that I may or may not been complaining about the last two days. The reasons don't matter. They really don't. Don't ask. It was weird enough.

"Oh, do I have competition?" She asked, a smile forming on her lips.

"Well, I mean-"

She kissed me, her hand on my shoulder was suddenly in my hair, tugging it a little. I'm not going to deny it if asked, this is totally what I was going for. I am unashamed. She pulled back, biting my lip slightly and then let go, a knowing grin in her eyes.

"No. I don't know what you're talking about. No." I shook my head denying any such thing was ever possible and we started walking to her car. I slid my arm around her shoulders as we walked. "Oh, so that guy I was just talking to, Patrick, who I thought wanted to kill me? He just invited me to a party."

"Wow, so he's embracing your overall perfection rather than try to destroy you. Good, I don't have to hunt him down and kill him. Well played, Patrick the rival."

"If he does become a rival, his new name is going to be Dicktrick."

"Huh, I like it."

"Thanks. It's on a boat or something"

She stopped and turned to me. I halted with her. "You should go."

"Ha, yeah right."

"No, seriously, we will have the rest of our lives together in three months. What's the worst that could happen?" Those six words in that particular combination should be banned. "God forbid if you have a little fun without me!"

Malia didn't come with me, something about not liking boats but I should go have a blast and she would have a girl's night with Kira. She trusted me. When I'm with someone other girls exist. Well, platonically. So I went.

~Party Hard~

I don't remember much. Just flashes.

 _Crazy people trying to break down a door while others pushed against it, trying to keep them out. It didn't work._

 _The boat on fire, someone climbing the mast to get away from it and the complete nut jobs below._

 _Hiding under a table seeing a young man barely out of his teens with crazy red eyes, stalking towards me. Another man attacks him before he could reach me, pushing the kid to the ground. Then I ran. Someone grabbed at me, leaving bloody scratches as I pushed him off. That and dove into the water._

That face is the clearest thing of all. I'm never going to forget. He had talked to me before the shit hit the fan. He had been flying sky high and offered me something, I refused.

The worst that can happen? Try an inexplicable zombie outbreak. Followed by a sudden desire to eat brains.

I woke up to black. It was hard to breathe. I struggled and pushed on the blackness, it parted. I breathed in deep, gasping for breath. A body bag, I was in a body bag. I sat up and looked around. Terror, confusion, those descriptors don't cut it. I was on the beach in a line of body bags. Some of them were being carted away by coroners. One of them saw me, started to run and fainted. Believe me buddy, it's worse on my end. I knew that party was going to blow.

On the other hand, how often can you say you've been changed, really changed, by a party?

~Pot luck Tuesday~

Fast forward to five months later.

I have always been a fan of hoodies. That and plaid. It's just comfortable and it's me. Today I had on my red one with the hood up. It's a typical day, I'm just out buying the usual stuff. Hot sauce, (I love Sriracha, I didn't used to,) tanning spray and other groceries. In the beginning, I bought hair dye, dark brown, my original color, but the upkeep was such a pain, it never lasted long, or it was never quite right, so I gave up. The cashier looks at me and does a double take. She gives me an unsure, shy smile. I smile back. She doesn't look reassured. It's ok, I know what I look like these days. Stark white hair poking out under my hoodie, pale skin that looks like it hasn't seen the sun in years, circles under my eyes. I pay for my stuff and go home.

"Hey Stiles." Kira, Scott's girlfriend, greets me at the door. She looks nervous about something. Oh, no, this can't be good.

"I know you're not going to be happy about this," _Here it comes._ "But we reinstated potluck Tuesday!" She said this with as much cheer as she could muster, as if this was the greatest thing in the world.

"We?" I asked, already regretting it.

She took my bags from me and headed towards the kitchen, I followed.

"So we can all be together! On Tuesdays! Like old times, cause we all care about you so much. And we want to make sure that you know that. Cause we are a little concerned?" The last part sounded like a question. Well this was already the most awkward thing ever. I feel an intervention coming on.

I rounded the corner into the kitchen, and oh, yay. There was my dad, my ex-fiancé, and Scott. Yay! Can I go die now before this starts? Again?

"Very concerned, son." My dad immediately pulls me to the side, away from everyone else. Let the awkwardness continue. "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it. I know the thing with the boat was hard, I can't imagine what that was like and I've seen some hard core shit." He really has, he's the sheriff. "But you haven't been yourself, I- we just want what's best for you. You're throwing your life away."

"Hmm." I hummed, pressing my lips together.

"You traded a top notch residency for a job at the morgue. Look, I'm happy to have you closer, and I was happy to help you get that job after you quit. But we both know you can do better." He gripped my shoulders. "Malia is for some strange reason still waiting for you, son. Don't let her go. She's not going to wait forever." The last words were quiet, and he smiled his reassuring cop smile I knew so well. He let go, dad wisdom spoken.

"Hey." Malia said, walking over to me. She smiled, but it was restrained. "Sorry about this, I wasn't going to come, but, free food."

I chuckled. "I wouldn't ask you not too." I smiled back.

"I was also told you wouldn't be put on trial. Not that you don't deserve it." There was a little bitterness there, but I knew she cared. Malia was the type to stand by her friends' side, my side, no matter what happened. Which was why I broke it off. I couldn't ask her to do that now, I don't want her too. I can't risk what happened to me, to happen to her too. I won't be responsible for that.

"Hey, you're not on trial." Scott said, he put the green pepper he was slicing and the knife down on the island. "It's just you've changed so much since that night on the lake. As long as I've known you, you've been this force, this unstoppable hyper-active fireball. Now you spend your time on the couch all day watching TV."

"Ok, I get it, this is an intervention, with food."

"Told you he'd get it." Malia muttered in the direction of Scott.

"We think you have PTSD." Scott said. "I get it. You go to a boat party and a bunch of crazy drunks start killing each other. Then the fire… you must have seen some crazy things."

"We just want you to know we are here for you, whatever you need." Kira said, coming forward, taking my hands in hers. Kira was sweet. She had such a big heart, she fit well with Scott.

"We think you need professional help though." Malia said.

I pulled my hands away gently, giving the girl a sincere look before addressing all of them. "I really don't. Need help. But I will try. I just… I need to get ready for work." I turned away before I could fully see their disappointed faces. They want to help, I get it, and it means more than they will ever truly know. I couldn't ask for a more supportive group of family and friends. But they can't help this. This one I have to bare alone. Let them think I have PTSD. It might be true even, just not the whole truth. Maybe I'm depressed. After all, what's the point of living when you're not alive?

~Typical Work Day~

"You're late." Lydia called out, a soon as I walked in. She didn't turn to face me, her attention was centered on the body on the slab before her. Strangely enough, while she was eating something from a bowl. Maybe a little unprofessional, not that I would ever say such a thing. Certainly not to Lydia Martin, the cool, professional (Yup, that's what I said), beautiful, 5'3 strawberry blonde that ran the morgue. And, uh, my boss. She always seemed so comfortable around the dead. She was amazing at what she did. She was rarely wrong, and her hunches usually bore fruit. She's a little on the scary side. So says the zombie.

"Sorry," I said. "Family drama." I put down my things near the door and went to her side, looking at the girl on the slab.

She nodded and didn't reprimand me. She's awesome like that.

"So," She said, putting down the bowl, "Jane Doe. She was found in the back of a garbage truck, the driver wasn't sure where. Typical. No ID. The garbage truck was using a crusher, complicating cause of death." Her phone rang. She sighed. "Duty calls." She says looking down at the screen. "Suicide." She glanced up at me. "Or was it murder?" She turned towards the door. "Sow her back up, bag her, and box her." I nodded. "You got it boss." Lydia left to get the next poor soul and I suited up. I put on my gloves and got to work.

I had never planned to work with the dead. At least not unless I screwed up. Some people you just can't save, or it's just their time. This works for me though, in more ways than one. I took care of the girl, as gentle as I could and apologized to her softly just before I picked up the bone saw and held it above her skull. I had big plans once. I know it's horrible to contemplate how wrong your life went when you are staring down at a girl who isn't much younger than yourself. Who knows what plans she had that she will never be able to carry out? I don't know how much longer I have either, this half-life I have now. I got what I needed from her, sewed her up and carefully put her away and cleaned up. This is not me going confidently in the direction of my dreams. I used to have ambition. I used to be passionate, inspired… if a bit clumsy and all over the place sometimes.

I put my lunch, rumen noodles, in the microwave along with my meat of no choice. I used to be, as Scott puts it, vibrating off the walls with energy. Alive. Now I'm mostly just hungry. I added hot sauce and started eating in the morgue's little break room, complete with TV that was currently showing _Night Of The Living Dead_. Oh, I'm a zombie. Did the brains give it away already?

I heard the door open behind me and I turned, noodles sticking out of my mouth, and brain bits clear in the nest of noodles. Oh shit, I am so screwed.

Lydia stared at me. She seemed cool, calm and collected as ever. She spoke to me in her best clinical voice, if curious and a little excited. "I have so many questions. First, why the hot sauce? Is that a zombie thing?"

I stared at her in shock and sucked in my noodles and swallowed. I somehow managed not to choke.

~The Eager Ally~

The light Lydia shined in my eyes was blinding. She was checking my responses.

"Everyone knows the party line for the Boat Lake Massacre. Drugged-up college kids. Violent fight breaks out. The smart ones jumped ship before the fire started. I was there that night. Open up."

I obliged and she shined her pen light in my mouth and peered in intently as she continued. "You see, many of the victims were missing significant brain mass. My colleges contributed this to the fish to the lake. They're idiots. Why would they go for the brain, through bone, when the tender bits were so much easier to get to? I mean it was right there in front of them! A virus like rabies except much worse."

"I'm sorry, am I getting fired, getting a physical, or becoming your new lab experiment?"

"Fired?" She scoffed. "I have a million questions for you. And both. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone." She picked up my wrist and held it gently, reading my pulse.

"How long have you suspected?"

"Since Carl Cortez." She said with a pleased smile. I just stared back blankly.

"The gangbanger gunshot victim?" Oh, ok… oh.

"You finished the autopsy for me. The detective on his case had me open him back up. Do you know what he was missing?"

"A male role model?"

"And half a pound of brain. See Stiles, I found out that you were a survivor of the massacre and I started checking. I opened up all the bodies you finished off for me. Resting heart rate. 10 beats per minute!" She laughed like she just discovered something incredible.

"How have you been so normal to me? Why aren't you freaking out and trying to bash _my_ brains in?" I asked. "I've been terrified about somebody finding out for months."

She shrugged. "You seem civil enough. So no one else knows?" She said, placing her gloved hand on my cold one.

"Oh god no."

Her eyes softened. "That must be hard. Dealing with this on your own." She glanced away in thought. God, she was brilliant. I knew she had brains, (pun not intended) but… she figured everything out weeks ago. She had been studying me, measuring me up, and she never once treated me different. Now I realize that suicide she had left on was a ruse, setting me up so she could walk in and see the undeniable proof, and she did. She didn't run, she didn't tell anyone, she wasn't trying to blackmail me, not yet at least. She seemed perfectly ok with it, as well as utterly fascinated. It was kind of mind boggling. I had been so terrified of someone finding out. Of a mob forming, pitchforks raised. Granted, she had been watching me subtly. But now… it was like she just accepted it. No fuss, no muss. She just confirmed she works with a zombie and she's fine with it. How?

It was kind of hot. What can I say? Brains turn me on. Wait, no. That's not what I meant. Intelligence. Her genius turns me on. I'm going to stop now.

Her eyes snapped back to mine. "Do you know the most urgent issue facing humanity is? Nuclear war or asteroid strike is horrible of course, but man-made plague? Biological warfare? Do you know what drug they were doing on the boat that night?"

"Not really, someone offered but I turned them down." I actually liked being fully aware and in control of my body.

"Good for you! Utopium. It's a new designer drug. How did you…? She gestured toward me. "Same peckerhead who offered it bit me before I could jump ship." I said. It still ground my nerves to splinters thinking about it.

"Interesting." She commented and reached for a needle. I looked away from it and managed to cover my wince and continued my story.

"The Emt who bagged me was so upset over bagging a 'living' guy that he didn't check and find out my blood is slush in my veins-"

"Certainly makes drawing it a challenge." She said, putting the empty, evil, thing down. "I'm going to need a bigger syringe." I couldn't hide the wince this time. "I'd prefer it if you didn't."

Lydia considered me in surprised amusement. "Really? The Doctor turned zombie who eats brains to survive and preforms autopsies on a daily basis… is afraid of needles?"

I scoffed. "No one likes to be stabbed, ok?" Lydia shook her head and grabbed a bigger one. "Hypocrite." She muttered, still smiling.

"As far as my dietary needs go, I eat… it… as little as possible. If I don't, I become dumber, meaner. And I'm afraid that if I let it go long enough, I'm going to become the mindless monster they hunt down and kill in all the zombie movies."

"Is the hot sauce something or have you always liked spicy foods?"

"It's the- Ow!"

"Don't be a baby." She replied, pulling back the needle, now filled with my blood. She put a cotton ball and a band aide over the new little hole in my skin and put the items away.

I huffed out a breath in mild annoyance. "It's the only way I can taste anything, make it as fire breathing hot as possible. The weirdest thing of all though-"

"What's the story on my Jane Doe, you ID her yet?" Said a voice behind them. We both turned around to see a detective coming towards us, the door swinging shut behind him. He was tall, dark, and handsome with a short beard on his face. Those eyes… What? I may be dead, more or less, but I still have perfectly working eyes. It's possible I might be bi. "Not yet." Lydia said, recovering first. She stepped away from the slab I was still sitting on and the small table holding the evidence of my physical and sat down at her computer, bringing up what we had found so far. I followed suit and went to stand by her and the detective. "We ran her records nothing turned up, I'm already working on the dental records. Did you find anything in the truck?"

"These," He said holding up a pair of cuffs. "Novelty."

The world drew in close and suddenly I was somewhere else, someone else. I was still looking at cuffs, but they were held by a different hand. "You have the right to..." I was being read my rights in a convince store by a different cop. I saw a newspaper and a sign on the wall in front of my baring the Canadian symbol.

The world snapped back to reality and I was me again. I looked away from the cop. He continued as if nothing happened. It didn't for him.

"The report said it was blunt force trauma, you sure it wasn't the garbage can crushing her skull?" The Detective directed the question to Lydia.

"Shoplifting." I blurted out. Well crap. May as well continue. "In Canada. She was arrested for shoplifting in Vancouver, Canada in 2008." Both of them stared at me.

"And you know this how?" The detective asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Cause I just…do?" I said. I knew I looked unsure. I was damning myself with every word and I didn't have anything to do with this. I'm so screwed. I'm going to jail. I'm not going to get any brains and then I'm going to go into full zombie mode and kill someone and if they don't kill me they are going to dissect me while I'm still alive and end up in a lab somewhere and I'm not going to have someone understanding like Lydia, I'm just going to be a thing and-

"Detective Hale," Lydia started. She couldn't save me, how could she? I've been pretending all this time and Lydia had known, I suck at pretending to be human and it was just a matter of time.

"My resident, Mieczyslaw Stilinski, Stiles," My God, how did she get that right? I never told her... It's on my resume and papers when I applied for the job, sure, but _no one_ gets it right on the first try. "Is psychic."

Uh, ok. I might be able to work with that.

Long story short, Lydia looked it up on her computer and found out that what I said was true, pausing Hale's inquiries to how I knew what I thought I knew and was, understandably, skeptical. He stared me down for a long moment and took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at me. The motion made his already tight shirt tighter against his chest. Then he let it go when Lydia found a name, Tess Balan. The prints matched.

I explained to my captive audience of one when he left.

"It happens when I eat a brain. I get visions, flashes of memory, dreams. It usually has to be triggered by something, like when he held up the cuffs."

"Do you mind if I run a full cognitive evaluation before the end of your shift and get a few saliva samples?" She said on one excited rush of breath.

I gave her a small smile. "Mind? It's what I live for."

I later explained it was more than that. It wasn't just visions, I get personality traits or skills. It sounds cool, but suddenly having a gambling addiction, getting so angry at the smallest thing you want to smash holes in the wall, or worse, in someone's face… It got scary. There were times I didn't know if I was really feeling that way or not, it was difficult to control and I didn't always realize it. I didn't know what this girl's personality traits were and what I would inherit, at least while her brain was in my system. I already knew she was a thief. Maybe that was just a one-time thing, and she secretly had a love of sweets. I could live with that. Gain a few pounds, but I like sweets and it's relatively harmless. That wouldn't be so bad. Ha, things are never than easy and simple anymore.

Life was normal, for a few hours. I went home and Scott convinced me to watch a movie with him. Some horror movie I don't remember the name of. It was fine. Until the first scream. Then I got another vision. I failed to sleep that night. Sleeping like the dead is a very stupid phrase. I don't need as much sleep anymore. It used to be something I enjoyed. Now it's just annoying. When I left for work later, I had one of Scott's red shirts with me that I just had to have for some reason I couldn't explain. It had the avengers' on the front.

~And The World Keeps Spinning. I Think I'm Going to Puke~

I didn't want to do this. I don't want to pretend to be a bloody psychic when in reality I ate a girl's brain. I couldn't tell him that. I couldn't just let it go either, not if I knew something that could help. I sat at Detective Derek Hale's desk, according to the name plate sitting there. Huh, so that's his first name. As I was waiting I saw a red pen just sitting there out in the open and I… I had to have it, I needed it. I took it and slipped it into my pocket just as Derek came back and sat down across from me.

Hale was still skeptical, but I told him my vision. That I saw a man choking the victim. A man who reported the weather on channel 11 news.

"Are you serious?" He asked. His expression was pure gold. Or you know, it would be if he were not doubting me and looking at me with wide eyes and a face that was a cross of _are you kidding me?_ And _if you're pulling my chain, I will kill you._

"Yes, do what you will with it, I'm done," I said, getting up.

"Wait," He said. I watched as he stood up and he gestured towards me in a silent follow me command. Sigh. Alright.

I followed him down the hallway and into an unoccupied office where he pulled the blinds and slammed me up against the wall. "Whoa! What the hell, man?!"

"Alright, what are you?" He demanded. Hale was strong, holding me effortlessly against the wall, inches from the ground.

"What? What's your problem? Let me go! This is po-"My voice started to rise and he clamped a hand over my mouth.

"I know you're not human, I can smell it. You're… wrong somehow. Your heartrate is so slow you shouldn't be conscious. Now what are you or do I need to get violent?" He was quiet yet urgent and demanding.

"Uh, no, no need to get violent, put me down."

He gripped me tighter, raising me a few more inches. "Tell me. What. You are." He said slowly, dangerously.

"Ok, ok. But not til you let me go." Hale slowly lowered me to the ground and let go. He didn't back off an inch, still very much in my face. I could try to run, but I was in my father's police station and wouldn't get far running with all the cops around, plus I would have to get past Hale first. He smelled me? Knew about my heartrate? It couldn't have been Lydia. She had covered for me yesterday. That meant something.

"You first." I said. "What?" "You first. You smelled it, you dealt it." Oh, that came out horribly wrong. He wrinkled his nose in disgust but took half a step back. "Fine," He grumbled. Then his eyes glowed blue. His normal, but pretty green eyes glowed an electric cold blue. My own eyes grew so wide I'm surprised they didn't fall out of my head.

"I'm a werewolf." He said.

"Wait, really?"

"Yes!" He said, irritated, and this time there were fangs. Those were not there before. I think I would have noticed. And- and claws, his hands had sprouted honest-to-God claws. As soon as I noticed them they were gone. The fangs retracted, the claws melted into finger nails and the eyes faded to their original color.

Wow.

Werewolves.

 _Werewolves?_

Really?

I used to be a logical person.

Now?

Well, why not werewolves? We can have a werewolf/zombie dance off.

"Well?" He said, more like growled.

"Sorry, I um, that was…I'm… don't kill me but… I'mazombie." I mumbled the last words quietly and quickly.

"What did you say?"

"He said he's a zombie." I looked past Derek and there was Lydia just inside the door. What? What the hell was going on here? There were too many questions, my head hurt.

Derek quickly turned to her but stepped back, keeping us both in view. "What? Lydia?" The claws were out again in a flash.

"Calm down, Hale." Lydia said. Cool. Calm. Collected. My head spun. She gestured to me. "He's harmless."

"Well- hey!" I protested.

She ignored my protest. "And I'm not your enemy."

"Then what are you?" Hale growled.

"I'm the M.E. I work here, same as you, trying to solve crimes and put the dead to rest. I'm also a Banshee."

~Car Ride~

I used to read in my spare time. One particular phrase a lot of writers use is; "The betrayal hit hard, like a punch to the gut." I read the words but I could never fully understand what that was like until now. The shock, the disbelief, I was suddenly dizzy and things were moving too fast. I'd gotten used to being a zombie, as much as I hated it. And now my world had changed again and I was still trying to grasp what it all means. Lydia outed me, werewolves existed and apparently became cops, or at least this one did and Lydia… She was something else too.

We had a hushed conversation in that office, the three of us. I, for once, didn't talk much. Hale, the werewolf, uses his abilities (super hearing, super nose, etc.) to solve crimes. There was some tragic backstory there, I could feel it. Lydia was a banshee and apparently that meant she was a harbinger of death. Explained why someone of her intelligence spent her time in the morgue. I had wondered. She told us she could hear things sometimes, whispers. She got a word or two about what happened to them. Supposedly she could predict death but it was easier for her when the supernatural were involved in said death, it was clearer then, she heard more, felt more. She said the night of the massacre she started screaming. She drove out to the beach, but it was too late, it was already on fire. That was why she was there, she hadn't been on duty that night. She had conveniently left that part out earlier. She didn't find out about me till later. And even then she didn't know what I was turning into. So she said. As for me, I told Hale that, yes, I really am a zombie. I get visions from the brains I eat. Yes, I do really eat brains, but I only partake from the already deceased. I would sooner die than take my meal from a living person. Hale interjected here that if I ever did, he would come for me. I rolled my eyes and told the sourwolf to calm down. I think if it weren't for Lydia being there he would have punched me in the face judging from his glare. He said he didn't have any problems with the full moon anymore and had control but I wasn't so sure with his growly personality. Lydia backed me up, not that I wanted her too. Lydia and Hale hadn't known about each other until now, but they both knew a little about werewolves and banshees respectively. Not zombies though, I'm unique. Lydia felt an urge to come up from the downstairs morgue to the police station above and wondered in on us. Leading me to the train of thought that if the harbinger of death hadn't, Hale may have killed me. That was a pleasant thought. He wouldn't do that in a police station of all places, right? No way.

Our… talk… ended too soon. I wanted to say a lot more, speak to Lydia in private, but there wasn't time. There was a murderer on the loose and a dead girl in a drawer. Hale refused to let me out of his sight and made me tag along with him to check out my vision, after I made him promise not to kill me. His response was: "Not without valid reason." I relented.

Later, when I could get home it would be time for research mode. I excelled at research. Researching zombies had been difficult. I hadn't found out much except pop culture references. Go figure. The origins were interesting however. The first zombie movie, they weren't called zombies, just the living dead. That term didn't come into play until an article popped up in the newspaper about the movie and the reporter called them zombies. Originally zombies came from the Haitian religion, Voodoo. People were buried, some sites reported them alive, some dead, and then they were 'revived' and their every action was controlled by a sorcerer or borkor. They have no free will of their own and the sorcerer captures the victim's soul in a jar or a bottle which can be used to strengthen their powers or sold to people as good luck charms.

Ew.

I'm pretty sure I still have my free will even if it is changed a little from time to time when I eat, and I wanna keep whatever is left of my soul. Later, it would be werewolves and banshees to research, oh my. I'm probably just going to find more pop culture references but there might be a bit of truth in there. In the meantime, I had the real thing sitting next to me in the car.

"So-"

"No." Derek interrupted.

"But-"

"No." He said again firmly, no room for argument.

"Oh come on!" I said, I wasn't going to be so easily deterred. "We have to talk about this at some point! Do you transform into half-man like beast? Full wolf? Or is it just lame claws and fangs like before?"

"Lame?!" Derek looked at me in indignation and anger before returning his gaze back to the road.

"Well, don't get me wrong, it was cool and all and kinda frightening what with you slamming me against the wall. But over all? I feel cheated if that's it. Blame it on too many werewolf movies."

He huffed in frustration. "Yes, I transform. What about you? Do you change or were you always sickly pale?"

"Haha. Pale, yes, but not like this. I do… transform, I guess. When I get incredibly angry or haven't eaten for too long… But I can snap out of it." So far. I'm still worried I won't be able to one day. That I won't be able to come back to myself until I'm covered in a friend's blood, already digging in to their skull.

"But do you change physically?" Derek questioned.

"Not that I know of. I mean, I haven't seen myself except for veins popping out. But I try not to go into that state." The state where I became stronger than I should be, but dumb, mean, angry, and bloodthirsty.

"So you're lame."

I squawked in mock outrage. "Well what would you prefer? Me, rotting, my limbs falling off and reeking like week old roadkill?"

He shrugged. "Just saying. I feel cheated." He wrinkled his nose. "You already smell bad enough."

"Hey! I bathe every day! What do I smell like?"

Silence.

"Derek! What do I smell like?!"

I swear I saw a shadow of a smile. He wouldn't tell me. I really want to know. Freaking werewolves.

~The Interrogation~

We arrived at the news station too soon and not soon enough. Hale flashed his badge and we got in backstage no problems. I hid the grin that threatened underneath my features. I need a fake police badge. I used to have one, until my father took it away just before using it to get into a concert with Scott when we were still teenagers. I still don't know how we managed to get as far as we did. Dad threatened us with going to jail and that he would let us rot if either one of us ever tried to impersonate a cop ever again. It mollified Scott, and me too. Scott promised he would never do anything like that ever again and that he was sincerely sorry. So was I, at the time. Now though… it sure would be useful.

Johnny Frost was an annoyingly charming weatherman. My first instinct was to punch him in the face. Mine or Tess Balan's first instinct?

"Yup, that is definitely him. Can I go home now?" I quietly asked Derek as we watched Johnny Frost wrap up his segment.

"No, now we find out if you were right."

"Oh, what? You're going to accuse him and say 'My psychic zombie friend here says you're a murderer."

"One, you're not my friend. Two, I don't need to. As soon as he sees this, his reaction will condemn him. _If_ you're right." He held up a photo of the victim, her mug shot. "Excuse me, Mr. Frost!"

I turned to see Johnny frost heading in our general direction after he had finished his segment.

"Do you have a minute to look at this?" Derek held out the picture.

"Oh happy to! Who do I make it out to?" Johnny Frost said. Good God, he was too cheerful. He had to be hiding something.

With his other hand, Derek held out his badge that he had been holding and showed it to him. "Seattle Police Department," Derek replied, handing him the photo. Johnny Boy looked at the picture with shock. Derek glanced at me. "I take it you know her?" For my part, I didn't announce to the entire room 'I told you so.'

"I don't, anymore questions you can ask with my lawyer present." He turned to leave and gave me a look. A 'I just stepped on a bug' look. "You should get some more sun young man." He said. He took a step before I said what had been resounding in my head since my vision. "Heere's Johnny!"

He halted and spun on his heel. He spoke in a hushed tone."Did she record our sessions? Look, I'm a beloved public figure, is there any way we can just make this go away?"

"I don't let murder slide." Derek replied.

"Murder? She's dead?"

Dude had an alibi on screen in front of his so-called fans, but he told us that the girl, Tess, was a prostitute, and choking her had just been part of a scene they were doing. He told us that he didn't actually hurt her. He pointed us toward another girl. Derek believed him. Apparently being a walking lie-detector is one of the joys of being a werewolf. With my heartrate so low, I think he'd have a hard time reading me. I'm not sure if that's cool or just depressing.

I had to return to the morgue. I really didn't want to, but I still had a job to do and the work day wasn't over yet.

"Hey." Lydia looked up from the dead guy on the table when she heard me enter.

I headed towards the office.

"Hey. Stiles."

I stopped. "What, Lydia? I have paperwork to do."

"It can wait." She came to stand in front of me. She tried to catch my gaze but I refused.

"That's unprofessional of you."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Now I looked her in the eye. "Tell me what? That you've been lying to me the whole time? That-"

She cut in. "I didn't lie to you Stiles, I told you the truth, just not all of it. Will you listen to me?"

She pulled me into the office and we talked. I wished I was a human lie-detector, but I think she was telling the truth. She told me that she was there at the beach that night and knew something horrible had happened, but not what. Much more than the senseless conclusion the others at the scene came up with. But she didn't know about zombies.

When she first met me, when dad pulled me in here to introduce me to her to get the job, she knew something was off at the time, but she couldn't place what it was. It didn't take her long to figure it out. She's smart like that. She didn't tell me, at first, because of the whole zombie thing. Racism sucks. She wasn't sure if I was a good ol' zombie or if I would eventually succumb to be a monster that went around moaning 'braaiiinnns!' My words, not hers. So far, I only did that on Halloween, despite myself.

After she decided I wasn't on the rampage, she wasn't sure how to tell me. Guilt, I think, of knowing and keeping quiet about both of our true selves. When she did, I felt accepted, but then the whole revelation with Derek happened and I felt betrayed. We agreed on no more lies.

I saw a file on the desk. M.S.

"Is that me?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm." Lydia replied.

I picked up the file and flipped through it, landing on my blood work that she had done earlier. "What are you doing?"

"I'm treating your blood with E-coli and different bacteria."

"What? Why?"

"It's research. If you want to find a cure, you have to find out how a disease defends itself. The more scenarios you expose it to, the more you know how it works." She stated.

"Wait, you think you can cure this?"

She paused for a moment and made a face. "It can take years. It's an uphill battle, but combine science and maybe a little supernatural elements, I think it's possible. Why did you think I was running all those tests? Were you expecting to stay like this forever?"

Well yeah, I was.

The conversation turned to the subject of other zombies. Neither of us had heard of other zombie incidents, no brainless people turning up. I think I'm the only one. I hope so. Being part of a horde does not sound like fun. Then Mr. Hale himself came to drag me away to help him on his case, see if I got more visions. Everybody wants a piece of Stiles. Just hopefully not literally.

So apparently I can speak Romanian! Or Tess did. The girl we went to see tried to pretend she didn't speak English and I surprised all of us when I turned it on her in kind. It's kind of a shame I don't get to keep these traits. That is, if I could pick and choose. Otherwise they can all fade away. She didn't give us much, but pointed us to where Tess had been staying and lucky me, I got another vision. I need aspirin for my killer headache. She stole a ring, and when someone, male from the voice and strength, tried to get it back, I didn't see his face, he was holding her by the legs over her balcony demanding to know where the ring was and she fell.

I felt it. I felt her die.

~Not A Pig~

Another day, another chance to not screw things up. I slipped Scott's shirt back in his room. Scott wasn't in, he was out on his morning run like always. My life may not be where I want it to be, but I can choose not to be a thief. I could have a pity party at the bottom of the tower of despair, or I could try to live. Zombie or not. I still had a pulse. I still had things that needed doing.

When I got to work I found out that Derek had been sidelined on his case. Accusing the weather man did not go over well. That, and he was still new to the department and didn't have much luck thus far. Another detective was on the case. He wanted Derek to help him, but Derek was no longer leading it. When did I start calling him Derek?

Despite that, Derek still wanted my help. We did a little more digging and then I found it. Speaking a language I had no previous knowledge of is so cool. One of the girls Derek talked to without me had said something that I told him translated to "Bearded pig."

"Tess had a bearded pig." I said. Well, that would be a funny sight. I want to see this pig.

"That doesn't make sense," Derek said, running his fingers through his hair.

Wait. "Yes it does! You're a pig!" Derek stepped toward me, and suddenly I realized just how much bigger he is that me. He opened his mouth to say something and out of the corner of my eye I saw his hand curl into a fist.

"No, no, wait! Hear me out!" I said, holding up my hands in surrender. "Cops are pigs, right? A lot of people think so, not me, you are sooo not a pig, the least pig-like man I have ever seen-"I stopped myself, before I could continue that dangerous train of thought before it crashed right into Derek's fist. "It's a bearded cop!" I was so happy before I got to my next conclusion. "Wait, it's not you, is it?" If so, werewolf probably beats zombie and I'm a splatter on the morgue floor. Lydia is not going to be pleased cleaning that up.

Derek grabbed me. I may have let out a squeak before I started trying to get away.

"Quit struggling, we have to go. It's not me you idiot, it's Pratt!"

I stopped fighting him and stumbled along behind him and he let me go, but didn't slow his pace.

"Who's Pratt?"

"The cop who took over the case, he left before I came to talk to you, we have to go!"

~Staying With The Car~

Derek tracked him with his awesome werewolf abilities. It was probably lojack, but the other way sounds cooler. We parked outside a large house. It was going under renovations, I could see scaffolding and large piles of wooden beams sitting not far away. There wasn't anything surrounding it except woods. I kind of hated the woods. Nothing good happened there.

"Alright, stay here, I don't want to spook him." Derek said, keeping his eyes on the house while drawing his gun.

"What else am I going to do? Verbally flog him? You should give me a gun. Just in case."

"I'm not giving you a gun."

"Why not? There's a murderer in there, possibly with the other call girls! I should have a gun!"

He glared at me. I felt it was unjustified.

"Stay. Here." He said firmly. Then he left me defenseless in the dark, sitting in a car where a murderer was hiding somewhere in the dark.

I'm not afraid of the dark. When I was little I had a problem with it. It wasn't the dark I was afraid of though, it was what was _in_ the dark. That fear came back now as I waited intently, watching the house. It seemed like forever. I know it was actually only a minute.

I found out afterward that Pratt had been seeing these three prostitutes. Tess, Veronica, the girl Derek and I went to see, and Monica, the girl Derek went to see on his own. Tess, the klepto dead girl, had stolen Pratt's wedding ring. Pratt didn't want his wife to know he had been cheating on her and when he tried to get the ring back, holding Tess over the balcony, trying to get her to tell him where it was, he accidently dropped her. Then he found the girls and took them to the house. He threatened them with a gun. He wasn't going to get a divorce because Tess stole his ring and he planned on tying up the loose ends so he didn't go to jail. Loose ends being the two girls. And Derek and I.

Movement in the house. A window opened up on the second floor and Pratt crawled out onto the scaffolding.

"No, no no. Come on Derek, He's going to get away." I said. Where was he?! I can't just sit here. As Pratt climbed into his car I scooted over into the driver's side. Luckily Derek had left the keys in the ignition. I pulled the car in front of Pratt's before he could move the car more than a few feet. Pratt was instantly out of the car and headed over to me, gun in his hand and pointed straight at me.

"Get out of the car! Get out of the car or I'll shoot!" He said. He wasn't playing. What choice did I have?

Before I fully closed my hand around the handle there was a great crack in the air.

Too loud.

Too close.

The driver seat window shattered and I crumbled in my seat. I felt a hand roughly grab me and suddenly I was on the ground. My ears were ringing. Everything changed to red.

~Brraaaiiiinnnsss!~

I don't completely remember the next part.

I remember a flash of running. I later found shards of glass in my hand which was mostly bloodless. I remember the pure rage, the adrenaline. The zombie part of me who needs human brains took over.

I pieced it together later from what I saw after the rage subsided and from what Derek told me he saw.

Derek found the girls tied together in a room. They were a little beaten up and still had tears running down their faces but they were ok. He was about to untie them when he heard Pratt shouting at me and the gun shot. When he ran outside, the car was peeling down the road and I was gone, leaving only shattered glass behind.

I don't remember jumping onto the roof of the car, but there is a Stiles size dent on the roof that wasn't there before. In Zombie Mode, I punched out the window shield. Derek thinks it only took a couple of hits. I would be more proud of myself if I could remember it more clearly. I reached in and turned the steering wheel and drove us into a tree. All of this in just a few seconds. Pratt, who had failed to put on his seat belt, came though the window, now gone, and onto the hood of the car, knocked out. I, who had failed to be in a seat entirely, flew several feet away from the car.

I remember seeing Pratt and nothing mattered. I had no worries, no fears, the lingering pain didn't matter. The only thing that did matter was the living human brain just a few feet away, ready for the taking. All I needed was to bite through the skull. I was bending over him, mouth open and maybe just a little drool when I heard my name.

"Stiles! Stiles!" Derek was running, full tilt towards us. Another werewolf thing I guess. He saw the car crash.

I snapped out of it just as he got there. He halted a few feet away, at the side of the car, he still had his gun out. "Stiles?" He asked.

"You missed the party. Maybe _you_ should have stayed in the car."

"Stiles, I saw your eyes. What was that?" He had the tone and demeanor of someone about to talk down a dangerous suspect.

"I'm fine." I said slowly, turning to Pratt, "He's fine. A little bloody maybe, and unconscious, but he's fine."

"Stiles. What happened?" The gun didn't rise but it didn't fall either.

"I… He-he shot me, and I… I went into zombie mode and..." And I couldn't remember, that didn't come until a little later. Right then I only remembered bending down, ready to feast. Until Derek brought me back. "And I got Pratt." I glanced down at the man in question. I shivered. I could blame the chill of the night, but that wasn't why. It was what I had been so close to doing.

"You were shot? Are you alright?"

I shifted my hoodie out of the way, it had fallen over the wound in my chest. "I can barely feel it." I said. I chuckled but there was no humor to it. "I guess it's another zombie thing." I said. Then my eyes grew wide, looking down at the wound. There were only a few drops of blood coming down from the hole that should be gushing blood. It was as if he shot a dead body. If the blood isn't pumping, not much will come out. Depending on the angle of the bullet, it missed my heart by a mere inch. Maybe less. I should be dead, very, very dead. It must have hit one of my lungs, possibly shattered a rib or two, which could have gone into my heart and into other very vital organs.

My knees buckled.

Derek caught me, holding me up. He said something but I missed it, I was too busy coughing up sluggish blood. It felt like something was stuck in my throat and then-

There was a bloody bullet in my hands.

"-iles!"

He was talking to me. "Are you ok? Stiles?"

"…I think so." I said quietly, emotionlessly. What was there to feel? Happy that I'm not dead? Should I be rejoicing? Scared shitless that I survived something I shouldn't and nearly ate a man's brain? I felt numb. I shook the numbness away. Breakdown later. It wasn't over yet.

I gently pulled out of his grasp and he let me go.

Derek cuffed and arrested Pratt, I checked him and the girls out while we waited for an ambulance. For major injuries, not the other' checking them out'. Neither of us mentioned my wounds to the Emts.

I asked him later what he meant about my eyes.

"Just before you looked up at me, your eyes were alpha red, and I could see most of the veins in your face." That reminded me of the guy who scratched me.

"Alpha?" I asked.

"Werewolves, alphas have red eyes. They are stronger and a leader of a pack."

"Huh. I don't think it's an alpha thing. I think it's a zombie thing. So what do blue eyes mean?"

Derek looked away, breaking eye contact. "I'm an Omega."

"O-whata?"

"Omega. There is Alpha, Beta, and Omega. It means I don't have a pack."

"Why not?" I realized I shouldn't have said it soon as I opened my mouth but it was too late to take it back.

He narrowed his eyes in his Derek Menacing way.

I help my hands up. "Ok, I don't need to know. Not my business."

~Undead Perks~

I went back to the morgue where I had a beautiful woman look at my wounds.

"I got mad, and I was 99% zombie. Like _28 Days Later_ style, with a side of Rage Bomb."

"I'm preforming open heart surgery on you, without anesthesia. Can you shut up and keep still? There it is." She pulled another tiny bone shard out and dropped it in the bowl with the other two. I had already given her the bullet. I was right earlier, Pratt did shatter part of a rib bone. "I would offer to stich you up, but there's hardly any blood. You're done." She said, standing up.

"But what about my broken bones? Did it puncture my lung? Severe an artery? We don't know how this effects zombies!"

Lydia put a finger to my lips and shook her head with a smile. "There is barely any blood and you are already healing at a remarkable rate. You're going to be fine."

I sighed in relief. "Must be easy when your patient is already dead."

"Hey, you have to stop calling yourself that. You're not dead, you're undead. Big difference." She pulled her gloves off and went to into the office, calling out to me while I got off the table. "Just think about what you did tonight, Stiles. You saved two women's lives, got justice for another and got a murderer off the streets." She came back to me with a brown paper bag in hand. "And, on top of all that, you will never be hungry again." She handed me the bag, I didn't have to look to see what was in it.

"Fresh brains for later. Now, let's get to work, shall we?" I smiled and put on my lab coat.

~ New Beginings… Not Again!~

Life is short. Then you die. And then… Then there are some decisions to be made. You can sulk around, lamenting all that you've lost, try to keep yourself numb and isolated. Or you can embrace who you are. I wanted to do something with my life. I wanted to help people. Not necessarily as a zombie psychic who eats murder victim brains, but still. I've spent five months bemoaning all that was taken from me. I still have some issues to work out. I came too close to killing that man. Horrible corrupt cop that he was, he didn't deserve that. If it wasn't for Derek I might have… I thought isolating myself from everyone I cared about was the best thing. Maybe I was wrong. If I wanted to be human again, taking myself away from that wasn't the road I needed to be on. I just needed to be careful. I have been careful. I can do this, live again, be me again.

My world had gone completely upside down five months again. In the last few days, it did it again, and again. Now my world included grumpy werewolves, genius banshees and who knew what else. But I survived.

And now I had friends to help me through it. Well, Derek may not be a friend yet, grumpy pants that he is, but I'll wear him down. Lydia is, and she is going to help me find a cure. She could do it, she certainly had the brains for it… I seriously I need to quit saying things like that.

There were a few things missing however. Malia deserves someone truly alive, and right now, I'm not that person. But I hoped to be someday, if I still have the chance.

Scott had always been there for me. Always. He was there when my mom died, I was there when his dad left him and his mother. In the past few months I had been pushing him away. He deserved more than that. He deserved to know the truth. Telling him would be one of the hardest things I ever had to do, but it needed to be done. If he couldn't look at me anymore, if he ran from me, if he tried to kill me for what I am… so be it. It would hurt, it would hurt like hell. But he needed to know. If he didn't run, then I would still have my brother.

Scott was already out on his morning run when I got up this morning, I actually got a little sleep for once. So I made us breakfast, pancakes, (No brains, I didn't need to scare him too much and I didn't keep any here at our apartment,) and I waited in our kitchen for him to return. For 2.5 seconds. If I sit still, I would think too much. If I thought too much I would back out of this, so I cleaned. I was folding laundry I had neglected to do for the past two days when I heard the door slam open.

"Scott?" I called, instantly on my feet.

"Stiles." Scott said. He sounded out of breath. He went on a run, but not around here. Too crowded. I'd call him weird but I don't always like being in our crowded neighborhood either. Too many nosy people. He likes to drive a few miles out near the woods and run there. So even if he was out of breath then, he shouldn't be now, not if he took his car back. He was limping.

"What happened Scott?" I demanded. I rushed to his side and helped him to the couch. He sat down with a sharp intake of breath and I immediately ran to get my first aid kit. It wasn't a store bought one, it was one I made myself. You would be surprised as to how many nurses and doctors do that. I never had need of it outside of a few Band-Aids and burn ointment for when Scott burned himself taking lasagna out of the oven. I ran back to Scott.

"Someone attacked me in the woods. I didn't see who did it, but someone tackled me to the ground and freaking bit me! I pushed him off, kicked and got away, but when I looked back, I didn't see anyone. Sprained my ankle getting away. I'm ok though… Stiles?"

While he was talking, I was behind him busy cutting off his shirt with the scissors in my kit. It was ripped and stained with blood anyway, and taking it off the normal way could pull on the wound or on a wound I couldn't see.

You got to be kidding me.

Seriously?

Now? It had to be Scott, didn't it? It just had to be my best friend.

I started cleaning the wound with a soft rag I wet down with alcohol. "Did you see fangs, or claws, or was it more like human teeth?" I asked, voice surprisingly steady.

"What?" Scott asked, confused. He turned his head to look at me and winced at the pain. Alcohol is a bitch.

"It's important Scott, you need to tell me everything you remember." I said urgently. It took me hours before the physical changes started and my hair turned white. This had just happened, it was too soon to tell. So was Scott joining me in my unlife or would he be howling at the moon with Derek? This was insane.

Oh God!

What if he was bitten by a zombie werewolf?! Was that possible?!

"You're scaring me Stiles."

I took a much needed breath, in and out. I needed to calm down, for his sake. "You're going to be fine, Scott. This isn't that bad. Just… from what you did see, or hear, this isn't going to make since but… do you think it was a zombie or a werewolf?"

He completely pulled away then, I put down the rag I had been using to clean away the blood before treating the bite. I could see more of it now, I couldn't tell what bit him other than it was a human size bite. The mark went deep into the tissue.

Scott looked at me, really looked. He took in my stark white hair, the dark circles around my eyes that were always there these days, my pale skin, and I could see his confusion turn into dawning comprehension.

I steeled myself, waiting.

"Are you high?" He looked at my arms. For needle tracks.

Oh, Scott.


End file.
